Before The End
by Restless5oul
Summary: Stiles and Lydia find themselves trapped inside the school with death looming over them in the form of the Alpha Pack.


Lydia didn't want to believe this was happening. No, she couldn't believe this was happening. She had been so sure that this would work, and now her entire plan was crumbling around her quicker than she could try to fix it. She was alone, utterly alone, stood in the middle of a deserted classroom with nothing to defend herself with. A cacophony of chaos raged on in the building around her, leaving her disorientated and confused. But most of all; scared.

Scared that at this very moment all of her friends could be getting killed, tortured and other unspeakable things. And it had been all her and Stiles' idea. She had almost single handily led them to their deaths.

It had been her idea to try and capture Deucalion, to get rid of him once and for all and put an end to this awful mess. She and Stiles had spent several long nights drawing up plans of how they would do it. It seemed fool proof. Or maybe that was just their wishful thinking. Then last night they had brought round Scott, Allison, Isaac, Derek and Cora to explain their plan. The initial reaction had been scepticism and wariness. Scott and Allison had been doubtful, but their loyalty to their friends left them considering the idea. Isaac, Derek and Cora had been harder to convince. But after hours of deliberation it had been agreed on. Dr Deaton would get Deucalion to come to the school where they would all be waiting. But in the haze of excitement and rushed preparations they had forgotten to take one vital thing into account; the rest of the Alpha pack.

When they had shown up the whole thing had gone wrong. So, so wrong. Those who couldn't sufficiently fight (basically Stiles and her) had been forced to hide. And in the haze of panic they had both ran, just ran without looking where they were going and now Lydia barely knew where she was let alone where anyone else was. She stamped her foot, placing a hand to her head and sighed; she had to do something, she couldn't just stand there and she couldn't let everyone else get hurt while she sat by. This was her mess and she was going to clean it up.

Glancing around she looked for something she could use as a weapon, and frowned at the lack of guns in a chemistry classroom. Instead she improvised with a fire extinguisher, holding the heavy weight in her arms so that she could swing it out at a moment's notice. Hesitantly she opened the door, slowly so it didn't make any noise, and tiptoed out into the empty corridor. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure any werewolf could hear it from a mile away; her palms were so moist and clammy that the fire extinguisher was slipping in her grip. Every step she took made her realise she didn't have the faintest clue where anyone would be, and each step she took brought her inevitably closer to a werewolf. If she tried to look for Scott, Isaac or Derek then she would almost certainly run straight into the fighting. The same went for Allison and Cora, whom she didn't think liked her very much. So her only option was Stiles.

After several agonising minutes of edging down the corridors she heard a crash from one of the rooms to her right that made her jump so severely that she almost dropped the fire extinguisher. Lydia stood still for a few moments, catching her breath and listening out for any other signs of movement. As the seconds ticked by she crept towards the door and turned the handle slowly and pushed open the door to reveal what was in the room.

The room was soaked in a deep darkness that her eyes took a few moments to get adjusted to. It was another science classroom, empty of any people; so where had the noise come from? She took another step into the room and there was a burst of movement somewhere to her left. She turned to swing the fire extinguisher out at whoever it was, but as the figure got closer she was that it was Stiles; who was poised to hit her with a glass bottle containing some kind of acid. They stopped inches from knocking each other out and let out unintentional sighs of relief.

Dropping the heavy metal canister to the ground she flung her arms around his shoulders in relief. Stiles didn't respond for a moment before hugging her back and she let the tension seep out of her body.

"Thank God," Lydia gasped.

Stiles had been pacing the length of the classroom for what seemed like hours, listening to the sounds going on in the building around him. Danger hung over the building, suffocating him with anxiety and stress. All he could think of was that Scott could be lying dead somewhere in the school and he wasn't there to help him. Running a shaky hand through his hair he groaned in frustration; what was there he could do? Really?

His internal struggle was interrupted by the sound of the door handle turning. Without thinking about what he was doing, Stiles flung himself under one of the desks, his heart beating rapidly; adrenaline coursing through his veins. Glancing around frantically he looked for something he could use as a weapon. His eye fell upon a glass bottle filled with a suspicious looking liquid in it. Holding it to his chest he watched as the person entered the room slowly, almost cautiously.

Then without hesitating, he ran out and went to swing the bottle across their head only to catch a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair and having to stop his motion mid flow.

"Lydia," he whispered his shoulders sagging with relief. He was a little taken aback when she threw her arms around his shoulders and there was a moment of nervous butterflies in his stomach. But they soon passed when he placed the bottle down behind him and hugged her back.

"Thank God," he heard her sigh, causing another swooping sensation in his stomach, that he promptly ignored. The times where he turned into a bumbling mess around Lydia Martin were over. What was he doing? Thinking about his messed up feelings when there was a far more pressing issue at hand.

He was solely responsible for this situation, and he had to do something about it. He couldn't let everyone die at his hand.

"We need to do something," he announced, regretfully letting go off the girl who stood before him, "We can't let this go on, especially when…"

He swallowed his guilt, feeling the sick taste of bile rising in his throat.

"It's all ou-my fault," despite what his head told him, he couldn't bring himself to blame Lydia as well as him.

"No," she disagreed, shaking her beautiful head; "It's our fault."

He looked at the ground beneath his feet, blinking rapidly to push his guilt way below the surface.

"What_ can_ we do?" he asked Lydia looking back up; feeling utterly helpless. He dropped his hands to his sides; running his bottom lip along his front teeth.

"We can…I-," Lydia groaned in frustration, before turning on her heel suddenly, so fast that her hair whipped his face.

Stiles was about to say something; what he wasn't sure, but it didn't matter anyway. He was cut off by a loud bang from somewhere out in the corridor. Stiles jumped and turned to face the door in horror. This was it; was the only thought in his head, this was the end.

Instinctively he backed away from the door as the banging sound continued, coming closer with each burst of noise. Eventually he could get no further from the door as his back pressed against the cool glass of the window. A quick look at Lydia told him that he wasn't the only one who was terrified, her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly agape.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed to her as soon as she caught his eye. It was his fault, _all _his fault. And they were going to pay for it.

"No," she mouthed back, a slight annoyance to her features, "We won't die."

He watched as her gaze moved past him to something beyond him. She reached out and placed her soft hand in his and began to pull him along behind him. As he turned he saw that there was a supply closet in the corner of the room, which he hadn't previously noticed.

He slammed the door behind him, perhaps a little too loudly and sank to the floor, his head cradled in his hands. And let the blame wash over him.

Lydia watched as Stiles dropped to the floor, looking the perfect picture of a defeatist. Inexplicably she wanted to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him it would be okay. But she held back, as his breathing began to increase, and his hands started to grasp at his hair. But something snapped within her when she saw tears slipping down the cracks in his fingers and along the backs of his hands.

"Stiles," she murmured, crouching down a foot or so from him. He didn't look up, but she noted that his face burned red as she spoke.

"Stiles," she repeated, a little louder, running the risk of whoever was outside hearing them.

And as though to coincide with her thoughts there was a roar from somewhere beyond the door, Lydia couldn't tell if it was in the classroom or out in the hall. But it got Stiles' attention at the very least. Their dilated pupils connected and there was a moment where neither of them moved or breathed, too scared that if they did whatever it was would hear them.

Eventually Lydia could hold it in no longer and tentatively let out a breath. There was no movement from the other side of the door so Stiles clearly took this as a good sign and exhaled too. She thought the scare might've calmed Stiles down but it seemed that the problem was more deeply rooted than she first imagined.

"What if they're dead?" he asked, though it could have been to anyone if she was not the only person in the room, "What if they're dead and it's all my fault…again."

Lydia was confused and shocked by his choice of last word but now clearly wasn't the time to go into it. She took his hands away from his face and held them in her own.

"They're not dead," she did her best to sound confident despite her doubts, "You haven't killed them Stiles."

She watched as his eyes welled with tears and his hands began to shake. But she held them firmly in her grasp.

"I did," he croaked tearfully nodding, "I did Lydia, and I'm going to kill us too."

Lydia did not want to think about death, not right now. She swallowed her own sobs and moved her hands to his face, cupping it and letting the heat from her fingers be transferred to his cheeks.

"Stiles," she whispered, "That's not going to happen."

He opened his mouth to argue again but her own lips cut him off. She hadn't meant to kiss him but the frantic desperation in her movement told her otherwise. She wanted to kiss Stiles Stilinski. The realisation set in and for a moment she thought about pulling away and apologising. But then he started to kiss her back.

She began to feel how warm and soft his lips were, the smell of him filling his nostrils and his delicate hand on her waist. She melted into the kiss. And finally she couldn't deny it any longer. Whether they were going to die or not, and whether she liked it or not.

She was in love with Stiles Stilinski.


End file.
